


Úlf

by spartanroses (babybrotherdean)



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 19:13:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16024211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/spartanroses
Summary: Atreus' first word.





	Úlf

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for some lil prompts for stuff to write, and this one was SUPREMELY CUTE:
> 
> _slightlyobsessedwith-ships said: Baby Atreus and his first words with both parents wondering what will it be_
> 
> So... here's a thing. :>

“How old was she? When she spoke for the first time?”

Kratos’ hands go still. He holds an ornate carving knife and a chunk of wood; halfway to becoming a small figurine. A habit he to which he has returned after so many years of neglecting it in favour of greater, more violent use of the blade. He sits at the workbench tucked away in the corner of their home, and Faye’s voice comes to him from her spot across the room, sitting in a chair with their child cradled in her arms. Atreus sleeps, tiny in the furs wrapped around his body, and Kratos exhales as he sets his work aside. This is a conversation he will not be able to ignore.

“Eight months.” He sees no sense in hiding the truth. “She was eight months old. She called for her mother.”

Atreus is nearly one year old. Already, he has proven himself a bright and curious child, but he has yet to form any measure of proper language. When he is well, he babbles, as most children do, and Faye speaks to him in return. Kratos watches, mostly.

“Hm.” Faye nods, and as she looks down at the boy, he makes a tiny sound in his sleep. She smiles and presses her lips to his forehead. “She must have had a lot to say.”

Kratos remains silent, because no matter the attempts Faye makes to press him about his past- gentle as they may be- Calliope remains too painful to share. She has become harder to avoid since Faye became pregnant, though; serving as an unconscious measure for every stage of Atreus’ early life and development. A baseline. A guide.

“I think he’ll be ready soon.” Faye’s voice has gone soft, and when Kratos lifts his head- eyes having drifted down unconsciously, caught up in his own tangle of memories- she is smiling again. Quiet and hopeful. Forever determined to push past the struggles of Atreus’ sickness and focus on the good. “He talks to himself, you know. He just hasn’t figured out how to get us in on it quite yet.”

As if on cue, Atreus starts to stir in tiny increments. More nonsensical noises, and he wiggles in place. His tiny fingers flex, gripping at nothing, and then he opens his eyes, peering up at his mother with an infant’s suspicion and curiosity. Faye coos softly at him and Kratos tries not to crumble under the warmth that blooms in his chest.

“There you are,” she murmurs, and Atreus yawns in return. “You’re going to be a chatty one. I can tell.”

As if he intends to prove her point, Atreus starts some sleepy babbling. Some of it almost sounds like words- little fragments of something Kratos can almost understand- but he tends towards phonemes that are native to his mother’s tongue. Different than Calliope ever sounded as an infant.

“Just keep trying, _hjarta minn_.” Faye’s voice is soft and encouraging, and Kratos looks back to his work, fighting a smile. “You’ll get there soon.”

Atreus continues in his nonsense language, and Faye continues to encourage him. Kratos focuses on his work, listening with one ear and trying not to linger on the past.

He wonders, idly, were he exposed to both languages, whether Atreus would first choose Norse or Greek. It is a question from a different reality, and it is quickly dismissed. So long as the boy is healthy, these details are of no consequence.

* * *

“ _Verr. Verr,_ wake up.”

Kratos stirs to the sound of Faye’s voice with a low grunt, stowing away his instinctive sense of concern and the itch for a weapon as he absorbs the tone of her voice. Urgent, perhaps, but there is hushed excitement clear in the words, and as Kratos forces his eyes open past the haze of sleep, he begins to understand why.

Atreus, too, is awake. He remains curled in the space between them, tiny fingers gripping at his mother’s long hair as he wiggles in place. His eyes are open, wide and attentive, and as Kratos watches, listening with bated breath along with his wife-

“ _Úlf_ ,” Atreus whispers with a childlike urgency, tugging at Faye’s hair. He giggles, then, and repeats himself. “ _Úlf!_ ”

The word rings familiar, but half-asleep, Kratos’ second language is distant. It comes to him in bits and pieces as Faye whispers praise to their son, pride shining through as she peppers his face with butterfly kisses.

“You like them, don’t you?” Faye’s saying, soft and playful. “The wolves. They’re your friends?”

Atreus laughs again and shakes his little hands around with excitement. Kratos remembers what the word means just as Atreus says it again. “ _Úlf_.”

_Wolf._ They are common in these lands, though Kratos is sure their infant son has never met one face-to-face. With the stories Faye tells the boy of local legends, though, it is not surprising to learn that Atreus has picked up on something familiar.

“That’s my boy,” Faye whispers, and Kratos returns his attention to his wife. Even under the shroud of darkness, she glows with happiness, stroking gentle fingertips over the top of their son’s head. “Such a clever boy, aren’t you, _smár æinn?_ ”

Atreus coos back at her, slowly returning to his less sensical vocalizations, and Kratos watches with a tight feeling in his chest. Slowly, he lifts an arm to drape across Faye’s middle, closing the small distance that separates them and cocooning Atreus more snugly between their bodies.

Slowly, the two of them quiet down, and Kratos continues his silent observation. Atreus falls asleep shortly thereafter, and for a short while, Kratos just watches him, quietly cataloguing the flutter of his eyelashes and the rise and fall of his chest. He thinks back on the sound of the boy’s voice, the sense of excitement pouring through into his first spoken word.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” Faye speaks softly, and Kratos lifts his eyes to meet hers. She smiles, still, and Kratos exhales. “I didn’t want you to miss that.”

Kratos responds before he thinks better of it. “Do not apologize.” Another glance at their son, and he feels weak in so many ways. “I… thank you. For making sure that I saw.”

The feeling of Faye’s lips brushing his cheek nearly ruins Kratos completely, so vulnerable in this moment, but he holds steady. “Goodnight, my love,” she tells him, and a cozy sort of silence falls over their home as she follows their son to sleep.

Kratos stays up for a little while longer, just for the sake of watching his family. For wondering what tiny, blessed thing among his blood-soaked history could have ever made him worthy of this tiny moment.

He decides, for now, that it does not matter. Perhaps he will go his whole life without understanding the ways of fate.

_Úlf_. He mouths the word to himself once more, feeling the shape of it and imagining Atreus working towards the monumental task of saying it for the very first time.

This, he thinks, is enough to distract from the past. Enough to blur his vision and make everything else seem unimportant. For now, at least, he needs nothing more.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in sO L ON G ((it's been like three weeks but LIKE))
> 
> Anyways. Other stuff is in the works. For now, quick little translations!
> 
> **Old Norse**  
>  _hjarta minn_ \- my heart  
>  _verr_ \- husband  
>  _úlf_ \- wolf  
>  _smár æinn_ \- little one


End file.
